Morning Poem, December 30, 2016

 

 

December’s first snowflakes

The last of the year

Drop and swirl

Tiny, fragile and white

Their line bends with the wind

 

They rest in little mounds

In cupped holly leaves

And lie on the green lawn

As if they were shy or afraid

As if they were aware

Of the brevity of life

 

 

copyright 2016

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